


And Miles To Go

by HardGarbage



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Angst, Blood and Gore, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Flashbacks, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Insomnia, Nightmares, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Shiro is my son and I love him but he suffers, Violence, it's like...a little fluffy (especially towards the end) but like, lbr it's mostly just angst my guys sorry, she/her pronouns for pidge
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-16
Updated: 2016-09-12
Packaged: 2018-08-09 05:54:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,143
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7789237
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HardGarbage/pseuds/HardGarbage
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>[Was supposed to be a one-shot but then I slipped]</p><p>Lots of people talk and write fics about Shiro not sleeping on purpose to avoid nightmares and flashbacks, but I haven’t seen anybody saying anything about Shiro just having insomnia. About wanting to sleep and trying to sleep and doing everything he can think of to sleep, but still not being able to.</p><p>So here it is: Shiro’s got insomnia and he does everything right and it still goes wrong.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> _But I have promises to keep,_   
>  _And miles to go before I sleep,_   
>  _And miles to go before I sleep._
> 
>  
> 
> -from _Stopping by the Woods on a Snowy Evening_ , by Robert Frost

He had to sleep. He had to. Sleep. He _had_ to _sleep._

But he couldn’t. He’d been trying for hours. He’d tried everything he could think of. He’d trained on the training deck until his legs shook, he’d drank nearly half the container of strange—foul tasting—Altean tea Allura had given him a few months ago, he’d tried distracting himself by doing the boring Altean puzzle game Coran had given him over and over until he wanted to break it in his fist, he’d tried a relaxation exercise he’d learned before heading out into space that first time, a way to encourage the astronauts to sleep even when their circadian rhythm became confused by the irregular placement of the sun and the lack of gravity. He’d just finished it. He’d tensed every muscle, methodically, starting from the tips of his toes and going up and up and up all the way until he scrunched his face up in tension. Then he’d released it, just as slowly, starting again at his feet.

He couldn’t do the second part of the exercise. He couldn’t imagine that his limbs were so heavy he fell, softly, right through his bed. He couldn’t imagine hovering in blackness, gently erasing his thoughts. Floating in emptiness. He couldn’t do that.

He was lying there, relaxed as he could possibly be, and still he could feel it, behind his eyes, the inability to sleep. He sighed and turned the lights in his room back on.

He’d been awake since 400 CST (4am Castle Standard Time) this morning...well, 4am the previous morning, as it was nearing 2am now. It had happened like this before. A few times, since boarding the Castle of Lions. It was unfortunate, but there wasn’t much he could do. He’d tried everything he could think of.

He stood, put on his day clothes, and exited his room, headed for the library. He’d been reading up on Altean (and Galran) history in his free time, a little on their technology, their philosophy. He couldn’t read Altean, but the library came equipped with a universal translator, and while it couldn’t edit the text into written English, or Japanese, it could read the material aloud to him in strangely accented English (the first human language their Altean hosts had uploaded into the castle’s system, since it was the most common among the paladins). It would be a peaceful and productive way to spend his unnaturally early morning. It would be alright. He would sleep tomorrow.

\---

Except that he didn’t. For another day. And then another. It was getting bad.

Everything was...foggy. His vision, his thoughts, his memory, his control. Everything got hazy around the edges, wouldn’t come into proper focus. In the past 48 hours he’d tripped over his own gear in the training room, he’d completely forgotten that Pidge had asked him for help with a new mod on the Lions (Hunk had been there and helped instead, Shiro would later find out while apologizing), and in the wee hours of the night, as he paced the halls, his knees had given out on him once while he wasn’t paying attention. He thought he might have frightened Lance when Lance had said something mildly funny and it had somehow struck Shiro just right that he laughed—near hysterically—for a solid minute before he could get control of himself again. That one had been hard to explain away.

And there were...other things. More flashbacks than normal, triggered by nothing. They were short, but potent: just shouting out at him throughout the day, catching him off guard. If his teammates hadn’t noticed his shaking, his forgetfulness, or how quiet he’d become, they noticed this. Once they had been in the middle of a meal and as Shiro lifted his spoon to his mouth he saw a pair frightened, blue eyes, one filled with blood, they were begging him but it was _their_ knife pressed to _his_ throat. He could feel how blunt the blade was, how, instead of cutting, it choked him just below his adam’s apple. They were begging him —

It is hard to describe the sound Shiro made. It was a garbled, wet shout, the kind of sound one might make as they hacked up water, having just narrowly avoided drowning.

He was standing. His right arm was glowing by his side. He was shaking all over, heaving breath. He blinked.

They were there, sitting, staring at him in wonder and fear. His head snapped up, the weapon of his arm powered down and he cradled it in his other hand. No one said a word.

When Allura looked like she was about to speak, he said, “I’m...I’m going to take a walk.”

He couldn’t think of anything else. He just left. Nobody followed him, though they would all approach him throughout the day to ask if he was alright. He smiled at them and nodded, every time. _Yeah, I’m ok_ , he’d say. _It’s ok._

Now he was sitting in the lounge in the dark, with only the blue nightlights of the castle to illuminate it, staring at the ceiling at 6 o’clock in the morning and he was _tired_. He was so tired he was literally sick with it. His stomach twisted in knots, his head stormed with a headache, his hands shook. He thought more hydration would help, and so there was another cup of tea at his side, but it was still full and had gone cold two hours ago.

He couldn’t _think_ , couldn’t pull a single coherent thought together. His mind ran in predictable, though illogical, cycles: first, the complete exhaustion, the sickness of it, then anger and an unreasonable drive to _go, do something useful at least_ , then exhaustion again, splattered with unintelligible fragments of flashbacks, then attempts to be present in the moment, acknowledging his surroundings, his breath, then his thoughts careened toward some daydream _— What had Keith been doing in a _ **_shack_**? _He hadn’t lived in a shack_ **_before_** **.** _He probably stole that hover-bike, the little sneak —Did the mice _ **_always_ ** _understand what was going on? They had a connection to Allura but does that mean they have at least human (or Altean) level intelligence? Should he be treating them with more respect? How would...how would he even do that? He didn’t even know their names…Did they have names? —Hunk and Pidge would probably make good toymakers. They’re really inventive, but also pretty silly. Though they might make something a little too dangerous for the average child…_—and then it would cycle back to exhaustion. Over and over again.

He rubbed his shaking hand over his gaunt face and sighed. In an hour the castle lights would turn on again, signifying that it was day and time to get up. Allura and Coran would rise promptly and go about their usual duties. Then Keith would wake for his morning jog. Hunk, Lance, and Pidge would stay asleep all morning if there wasn’t anything planned, so Shiro always had something planned. Today it was close combat training at 10am. Pidge and Hunk would get up at 9 for breakfast, Lance at 9:30. Keith might join them or he might not, but he would be at the training deck promptly at 10am whatever the case. Shiro knew all of this. He’d seen the routine play out for much longer than just his insomniac nights, regularly waking at 6am for some exercise himself.

He wasn’t ready. He didn’t know how to _be_ ready. He didn’t want to move. He didn’t want to stand and walk and talk and be a leader, a teammate, a friend. He could barely lift his arms, let alone smile and listen and nod and chastise. But he was going to. Again. Like always.

It took him two attempts before he was finally standing. He ran a hand through his hair, swaying a little as he closed his eyes, and sighed, again. It was going to be a long day.

\---

He made it to breakfast with little incident. Everyone was looking at him more than a little warily, but no one said anything. He knew how he looked. He knew his eyes were bloodshot and his lids wouldn’t open all the way, he knew the bags under his eyes were turning a light, bruised, purple, he knew that he was distracted and clumsy, having to take a few seconds to fully digest that someone was talking to him, and much longer than normal to formulate what might pass as a coherent response. But he still ate and joked over breakfast, still asked about Pidge and Hunk’s latest projects, Allura and Coran's investigations, humored Lance as he described his latest dream, and listened as attentively as he could to Keith’s suggestions about combat training that morning.

“Close combat, really? _Again!?_ ” Lance mumbled incredulously after wolfing down his breakfast. “We did close combat like...two days ago!”

Had it only been two days? Really? Shiro had thought that...well that it was longer than two days.

“Yes, Lance,” Shiro responded, firm but breathily, “You, Hunk and Pidge still need a lot of practice. You rely on your long-range weapons too much.”

He felt like he should elaborate more, but couldn’t quite formulate how. Something about...weakness? No, no, something about trust in your teammates or...how close-combat was more...likely? Was it?

“Pidge doesn’t have a long-range weapon. And besides, doesn’t that mean that _Keith_ should do _long-range_ training? That he relies on his _close-combat_ _weapon_ too much?”

Yeah. That was why he needed to elaborate. Shit.

“Pidge relies on her stealth and size too much. Keith doesn’t have a long-range weapon to use, Lance. You know that.”

Lance pouted. Shiro was honestly impressed with himself, those arguments made complete sense, he thought.

“Well, Shiro,” said Coran, “I actually might agree with Lance here—”

—Lance was practically _glowing_ —

“—you did do close-combat training just recently, and it’s been nearly a week since you last formed Voltron. As your advisor, I might suggest some work in the Lions instead.”

Shiro blinked. And then again. That was a bad idea.

He knew that was a bad idea, but didn’t know how to tell them it was a bad, a really really _bad_ , idea. He had assigned close-combat training today because he still felt like he could _do_ it. It was practically second-nature to him, no matter how uncoordinated his lack of sleep made him. And besides, if need be, he could simply instruct the others and observe, not actually participating himself. But piloting the Lions? Forming Voltron? That was...that was _dangerous_ . He’d run into too many things in the last few days to ignore that his coordination was _way_ off. And translating that same function to a GIANT ROBOT LION seemed, at best, idiotic and, at worst, really potentially harmful. Especially if it meant forming Voltron. There were so many ways that could go wrong. He couldn’t think of them, but he knew there were a lot.

“Shiro?” Coran was looking at him, eyebrow raised.

Shiro blinked again. Opened his mouth, “I—”

“Come on Shiro, _pleeeease?_ ” Lance was leaning over the table towards him, hands clasped, limp exaggeratedly pouted. “I haven’t seen Blue in _forever_! She’s lonely out there!”

Shiro scoffed, “Look, Lance—”

“Shiro, could we though?”

Pidge. She’d seemed to have emerged from her regular morning zombie mode just fast enough to participate in the conversation. Her voice was innocent and pleading.

“I’ve equipped the Green Lion with the new mods I’ve been developing, and I’d really like to try them out before we actually use it in combat—and who _knows_ when that’ll be. If we get it out of the way now, I might be able to properly finalize them before we actually need to use them.”

“Yeah! Alright, Pidge!” Lance practically launched himself past Hunk to where Pidge was sitting, giving her an all-too-energetic high-five. “Team not-combat-training, yeah!”

Shiro’s brow furrowed in distress and more than a little guilt, “Pidge—”

“And just so we’re all on the same page, I’d rather pilot the Lions today too.” Hunk added casually.

“Yeah...me too, actually,” Keith admitted shyly, “sorry, Shiro.”

Allura and Coran were both looking at him questioningly, wondering how and why he would neglect such a reasonable request. A touch of panic bubbled up from under his numbness.

“Guys, we’ve got to—”

“Vol-tron,” Lance was chanting, pounding the table with in fists in time, “Vol-tron! Vol-tron! Vol-tron!”

Then Hunk. “Vol-tron! VOL-TRON!” Then Pidge. “VOL-TRON! VOL-TRON!” Then Keith. “VOL-TRON! VOL-TRON!”

His headache was stabbing at him, he raised a shaky hand to massage his brow.

But then even, slightly embarrassed, Allura and Coran, “ **VOL-TRON! VOL-TRON! VOL-TRON!** ”

He grit his teeth against the pounding in his skull. It was too much.

**_“ENOUGH!”_ **

It was louder than he had meant it. It was a growl, a roar, it was too aggressive and he knew it. He pressed his finger and thumb into his eyes, massaging them, trying not to think about the shocked faces of his teammates as they sat there in silence, waiting for him to speak.

He didn’t want to. He’d much rather just let them all sit there until he fell asleep, and would be done with it. He felt guilty, and exhausted, and he couldn’t _think_. On a better day he could come up with something, some reason to do things the way he wanted, the way he needed, but today he was blank. All he could think about was how tired he was, how his head hurt, how his muscles hurt, how every part of him ached for sleep so completely that he shook with it. All he could think was, _I can’t do that, I’m sorry. I can’t do that, I’m sorry. I can’t. I can’t. I’m so sorry_.

So, that's what he wound up saying.

“Guys, I can’t.”

He pulled his hand away from his face, leaned to rest fully against the back of his chair, sighed, and opened his eyes.

They were staring at him, obviously concerned. He couldn’t imagine what he looked like at this moment. Slouched heavy against the chair, arms draped haphazardly in his lap, his eyes half open. And his expression. Relief? Guilt? Sadness? It was an expression so quiet you knew the feeling behind it was massive, the eye of the storm, its center. He looked completely spent.

He sighed again and blinked, “I can’t form Voltron today, ok? It wouldn’t be safe. I...I haven’t slept in…” he glanced at the clock on the wall, huffed a pathetic laugh, “almost 90 hours.” He glanced at Allura and Coran and said, “About 360,000 ticks.”

Silence.

Then—

“What the _hell_ , Shiro!” —“How are you still _alive??_ ” —“For _three whole days?_ ” —“Dude, that is _not_ cool” —“You couldn’t possibly—”—“Young paladin, that’s _not_ —”

“Please.” He said it very quietly. Desperately. “Please, stop.”

They did.

At some point he had closed his eyes. He opened them again, and his expression was so pained that it made Allura gasp.

“I-I’m sorry.” His voice quivered, his brows drew closer together and the edges of his mouth jerked down in a painful grimace. “I’m not...I’m not _trying_ to. I’ve done everything — _everything_ I could think of and I just can’t...I just _can’t_ …” He grit his teeth, knowing what was coming and unable to stop it. He had so little control…

He started to cry. He was ashamed of that, too. He was so broken he couldn’t lead his team, so broken he couldn’t even control his own emotions, so broken and tired that he couldn’t stop crying, no matter how he tried. He clutched his face, grit his teeth, tried to choke the tears down but every time he did all he could manage was painful, choked grunt followed immediately by a broken sob. He shook, violently. _I can’t do that, I’m sorry. I failed. I’m sorry. I can’t. I can’t. I can’t. I’m so sorry_.

All at once, scraping chairs, people calling his name, then hands on his face and his arms, pulling him towards them, soft and warm. His head on somebody’s chest, somebody’s head on _his_ chest, arms all around him, holding. They were saying his name so gently. And other things —

“Shiro, of course, of course, it’s ok,”—“Hey, hey, don’t worry,”—a watery voice on his chest murmuring, “it’s ok, Shiro. You’re ok,”—someone making shushing sounds and running their hands through his hair. He kept trying to stop, but every time he made that, terrible, pained sound they just held him harder, said his name softer, he felt more hands, one loosening the tight grip he had on his own face in order to hold his hand, another wiping a stray hair off his face.

It took awhile, but eventually he was too tired even to cry. He just lay there in their grasp, chanting, because he could think of nothing else, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

“Shiro.”—it was Allura—”Shiro, please. Listen to me.”

He clamped his mouth shut, but didn’t open his eyes.

Her voice was stern. “Thank you. Thank you for telling us. This is very, very important. You are a vital member of this team, and it is imperative that we were made aware of this situation. For all our sakes."

_Put the team in danger. I’m sorry._

He tone softened, “But it’s _ok_ , Shiro.”

He choked.

“It is _ok_. We understand. No one is angry or disappointed. Other than your own suffering, no ill has come of this. You have been nothing but a reliable team leader these last few days. I cannot imagine the strength it must have taken, or the pressure you must have felt in order to keep such pain from us.”

He couldn’t think. The tears just kept slipping out. He still wouldn’t open his eyes.

“No one thinks less of you. We understand. This is not something you could control.”

_I should. I should have been able to. I should have._

“What you are suffering is medical, Shiro. Not a personal shortcoming. You say you’ve done everything you could think of, and I believe you. You did everything you could on your own. Now please. Let us help you.”

She paused. He tried to think of something to say into the silence but couldn’t. He opened his eyes. 

They were all around him. Allura was holding his hand, looking into his eyes. Pidge was latched firmly to his chest. Keith sat on the table in front of him with his hand resting softly on Shiro’s knee. Hunk was beside him, rubbing his back rhythmically. Lance was rubbing circles into his flesh-and-blood palm. Coran stood somewhere behind him, still soothingly brushing through his hair. He blinked.

“O-okay.”

Allura smiled. “Okay. Everyone,” they all looked up at her, “Let’s give Shiro some room, shall we?”

Reluctantly, they stepped away, most departing with a final pat or brush, all except for Pidge who clung fast and shook her head into Shiro’s chest. Allura moved to coax Pidge away, but Shiro looked down at her and laughed, fragily. “It’s alright. She can stay.”

Allura nodded and the team, most of them anyway, returned to their seats.

There was silence for a moment. Shiro was wiping tears off his face, and he could see that a few of the others were doing this as well. He tried to even out his breathing, watching Allura’s face, which was kind, but determined.

She spoke, “So, I have an idea, if you’d like to hear it.”

Shiro tried not to inhale his snot too loudly. He wiped at his face again, then nodded.

“We do have sedatives aboard the castle—”

Shiro stiffened. His eyes widened and his hand, unknowingly, clutched into the back of Pidge’s shirt. Indistinct flashes of light, an overwhelming feeling of numbness and yet, still fear. There was a hand _inside_ his gut —

“—erations the cryopods aren’t capable of, like setting bones. It’s not perhaps the most natural way, but it would allow you some modicum of rest for the time being, until we can find a more sustainable solution.”

“I—” He tried to gather his thoughts, but they were very scattered, among bright lights and blood, “I really...don’t like that idea,” was all he could think to say.

Allura frowned, though knowingly, “I thought you might not. But you _need_ to sleep, Shiro. You can’t go on like this. And if we can’t get there through normal means then —”

“I really—” his voice was shaking “ _— really _, don’t like that idea.”

Lance clapped his hands loudly, and Shiro startled. Lance looked at him apologetically, “Ah, sorry about that, but I _also_ have an idea.” He was chipper, but Shiro could see the redness around his eyes, hear the tightness left over in his throat. “So yeah, we use the sedative —”

“No, I—”

“Hold on,” Lance held up a finger. “We use the sedative, _but!_ Shiro doesn’t just sleep in his room, or in a cryopod. He sleeps in the _lounge_.”

“The lounge, Lance. Really? What good is that going to do?” Keith. His eyes were also red.

“A lot, ok! We can bring a mattress to the lounge, maybe some candles or something I don’t know, and he can sleep in there, where someone can always be with him! We can all be there when he goes to sleep, and we’ll all be there when he wakes up. That’s got to be _way_ different than —” Lance sputtered but then laughed awkwardly and picked up again, “—if he sleeps for a _really_ long time, we could even have a sleep-over in there!”

Coran cocked an eyebrow, “What’s a ‘sleep-over’?”

“Basically just a bunch of people sleeping in a room together,” Hunk explained.

“It so much more than that and you _know_ it,” Lance retorted, indignant. Hunk smiled and poked Lance in the side. Lance jolted, growled, and then went to retaliate when the princess quietly coughed and they returned their attention to the problem at hand.

“Well, Shiro.” Allura was looking at him expectantly. “What do you think?”

“I—” It was hard to process. He hadn’t been sedated since…

Some port of his brain was caught in a cycle of confusion and fear, but another was imagining the scenario Lance had described. Shiro, sleeping peacefully, in a calm and quiet room that he knew well, surrounded by the people he loved. One part of him remembered the terrifying numbness that sedatives brought on, like his body was being disconnected from its senses, but another part was remembering Coran’s hand in his hair, how softly Allura had said his name, the warm hands that had held him. He imagined sleep. Finally, sleep.

“O-ok.” He nodded. Then, more firmly, “Ok.”

\---

An hour and a half later, the lounge was ready. The center of the circle-couch had been fully padded with mattresses and pillows, with the forethought that everyone would almost certainly be sleeping in there tonight. Shiro lay in the center, comfortably propped and almost forcibly tucked in by none other than Keith (and Coran, who was strangely good at it). They had already gone through the tense moment of hooking up the IV. Shiro had been scared. Hunk held his hand.

Already he could feel it, the numbness, the haze, and he made a pained sound at the back of his throat. And there was Pidge, smooshing his face between her hands. “Hey. Hey. None of that. It’s ok, Shiro. Ok?” She pressed his cheeks together so that he made a mouth like a fish. “It’s O K.”

“Pidge—” it was a breathy laugh, barely there, but the tension eased from his face. Pidge smiled broadly and then began massaging his cheeks instead of prodding them.

“Have a good sleep, buddy. We’ll be right here.” Lance’s hand was on his shoulder.

His vision was starting to go, his eyes closing.

“Don’t worry, Shiro. We’ll be alright.” Keith.

“Rest well, paladin.” Coran.

Hunk clasped his hand a little tighter. His eyes closed.

“Goodnight Shiro.” Allura.

Then he was gone.

\---

He half-woke in the middle of the night, around 3am. He was drowsy and sluggish, and a little dizzy. He couldn’t decipher what might have woken him, but fought against the overwhelming urge to just close his eyes, just go back under.

The room was dark and quiet, lit gently blue. A smell like lavender drifted throughout the room, and Shiro wondered if Lance had found candles after all.

They were all around him. Allura and Coran rested on either side of the couch, but the earthlings were on the mattress-covered floor with him. Pidge had nestled herself under one of his arms, while Keith—surprisingly—was curled next to the other. Hunk and Lance were behind his head, spooning (Lance the big spoon) as though they had done this often.

When Shiro adjusted to get a better look at them, he saw Hunk’s hand outstretched towards his head, and when he moved he saw Hunk’s eyes squint open, and then quickly close. Hunk’s hand moved and found Shiro’s hair, combing through it. Shiro sighed. Beside him, Keith flipped over, now facing him, and pulled Shiro’s human hand to his chest, rubbing circles into his palm and mumbling something Shiro couldn’t understand.

Shiro rested back again. Some part of him was nervous and shaking. Some part of him bubbled with panic at the familiarity of the after-effects of sedation. Some part of him flashed alarms and half-recalled images that made him shudder.

But he knew that his hand was in Keith’s hand, against his chest. He knew that his arm was draped protectively over Pidge. He knew that Hunk’s steady hand was sweeping through his hair. He could hear Allura and Coran and Lance breathing softly, that they were all safe, in this room lit blue and smelling of lavender—so different than that other place, dark and filled with rot.

He took a deep breath and felt sleep come for him quickly and softly. He leaned into it, sighed, relaxed, and slept.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So this was supposed to be a one-shot, but I’ve been really inspired by all the encouraging comments I received, as well as [Maychorian](http://archiveofourown.org/users/maychorian/pseuds/maychorian), who has a wonderful penchant for writing past the “natural” ending of a story and dealing with the aftermath of all that’s happened and the ways in which people carry on with their life even after something like this. (check out their [Boom Crash](http://archiveofourown.org/series/518641) fic my guys, it's honestly the light of my life rn)
> 
> I can say that I have no idea where the story goes from here, honestly. I don't have a particular arch in mind, I'm just trying to be true to the characters in the situation I've put them in and see what happens??? I guess??? I don't know! It'll be fun! Maybe!

The arena was dark and empty. Shiro shivered in its center, sitting alone on the dirt floor, cowering into himself. There was a ringing in his ears, loud and pointed, as though he couldn’t accept this place,  _ this place _ of  _ all places _ , being so silent. He began to imagine its usual noise, shouts and screams from the audience, rabid chanting, the roar. In this cold place he remembered the heat of all those bodies packed around him, remembered his sweat, the stifling smell and humidity, the heat that felt like a fever spreading over his cheeks, slicking his hairline. 

But it was silent. And cold. And so vast he couldn’t see the ceiling in the darkness, couldn’t find the end of the stadium seats which stretched up and up. And he at its center.

He was panicking already. He couldn’t capture his breath, couldn’t make it obey him, and he was beginning to hyperventilate into his knees, eyes wide and shaking in their sockets. It was so silent. So dead.

Then, a splatter against the dirt which made Shiro’s stomach lurch. Shaking, eyes so wide they stung, he looked up.

Blood was sprayed across the floor a few yards away, thick and red. There was no indication where it may have come from. It was still empty. He was still alone.

Then another appeared, heralded by that same gut-wrenching splat, nearer by. This time, a sound, like the scuffle of boots, a groan, someone sucking in a breath.

Another splatter and a scream, more scuffling, the dirt rose softly near the blood as though someone had just stepped there. Shiro watched the invisible match in horror.

Finally, a grunt, and the sound of a body slammed to the floor, a scrambling of limbs, a soft voice,  _ p-please _ —

Then the sound of a blade entering a body. Blood poured out onto the ground, a vast pool. Shiro could hear a gurgling for breath. Then, again, silence.

Something caught the corner of his eye, then. There, in the stands, a figure in a prisoner’s uniform, pale and slouched. They had a small body with several limbs, three of which protruded from its body at unnatural angles, its face, flat and round, was impassive, it’s two eyes lidded and empty. From the middle of its chest, blood poured lazily. A corpse.

Before Shiro could gather himself, more sounds of a struggle, more blood—this time yellow, like honey—splashed nearby. He waited for the inevitable conclusion, sick with himself. This one involved more breaking bones, more screaming, begging in a language he could not understand. Blood slammed into the wall, there was a gasp, then slammed again, again, again. Finally, silence.

And there they were. Watching him. They sat upright though their spine curved sideways—

_ No— _

Their long neck open and weeping—

_ No, please _ —

A gentle face, mouth agape in horror, eyes barely open—

_ Stop— _

Dead. Like the other.

It went on. Bodies, at least a hundred, filled the stands. Sounds of battle scraped against the inside of his skull. Voices, breathy or angry, loud or desperate, called out all around him. He watched every single one. Heard every single one. 

It wouldn’t stop. He couldn’t wake up.

\---

It had been almost 20 hours now and they were all starting to worry.

Everyone agreed: Shiro needed sleep. But  _ this _ much?

It was late in the evening of the following day and everyone was huddled around Shiro, trying to think of what to do.

“Maybe we could just like... _ try _ to wake him up? I mean he’s probably gotta at least, like,  _ pee _ and  _ eat _ ,” Hunk proposed, “He can lay right back down after that if he wants but like...I mean he’s gotta pee right? I would have to pee so bad if I’d been asleep this long.”

Keith nodded. “Hunk has a point. But I think if we’re going to wake him up, we should  _ keep _ him up, at least for a while. Oversleep isn’t good either.”

“Dude hadn’t slept in  _ three days _ ,” Lance retorted, “I don’t think we’re worried about him getting  _ too much _ sleep, Keith.”

“Keith’s right, Lance,” Coran interjected, “Just like one needs time to recover from extended time in the cryo-pods, there’s a certain amount of recovery required for sleeping such a long period of time. There are physical side effects: headaches, muscle pain, confusion, nausea. These may even have been intensified by the sedative we gave him, as we’re not entirely sure the effect it will have on human physiology.”

Keith smirked.

“Wait, so, we gave him this sedative and we didn’t even know what it would  _ do _ ?” Pidge sounded more than a little angry.

“Technically, yes.” Coran said.

“ _ What the _ —”

“We were sure that it was safe enough to use, especially in such a dire circumstance. The side effects I’m concerned about are amplified nausea and muscle weakness, nothing more.” Coran smiled empathetically down at Pidge, “The benefits far outweighed the risks, don’t you think?”

Pidge looked indignant, but mollified.

And something that everyone had noticed, but no one mentioned, was that, throughout the day, Shiro’s peacefully sleeping expression had gradually changed. At first it was minor, from a passive smile to a frown, but midday it had become a grimace and now...now it wasn’t even that. It was like...fear. His eyebrows drawn together, his face pale, his shaking had returned. It made them all uneasy.

“I’m going to wake him.” Allura said, determined. “We’ll keep him up for at least a few hours and then, if he wants, he can go back to sleep. It would be good for him to sleep overnight anyway, to regain a normal sleep pattern.”

She looked up at the team, silently asking for any reservations or questions. When none came, she nodded and lowered her hand to Shiro’s face.

\---

On and on. He was covered in blood of every color. So long it had dried on his skin, cracked when he moved his eyes. He could smell it on him.

_ Shiro. _

Every voice pierced him. Every scream, every breathy plea. But how did this one know his name? Had he...had he known…

_ Shiro? _

The stands were filled to the brim. Bodies piled on top of each other. Limbs rested without a body nearby, as though that were all that was left of them. The current battle was long. Had gone on for so long. In this, as with a few of the others, he’d seen blood of two colored splatter the floor. The soon-to-be corpse’s and...and…

_ Shiro, it’s time to wake up. _

He clutched himself tighter. The battle continued. Shuffles and grunts and flying dirt. A smack and then a wet hacking sound before blood was spit onto the floor. It was almost over now.

_ Shiro? Are you— _

It was coming. He shook. He tried to lower his head into his knees, tried, as he had so many times before, not to watch, here, at the end. But he couldn’t. He heard the blade land and then tear outward. A bone broke, a scream, blood flashed through the air. Another body in the stands—

_ Shiro! _

He launched into wakefulness with a terrible scream. He was dizzy, panting, sweating, shaking. His eyes were wide and terrified, though he could barely see. A rim of blackness haunted the edges of his sight as he heaved, trying to understand. His stomach churned, and it wasn’t until he reached out to put a hand over it that he began to realize where he was.

His hand ran into something. A body. Warm. His head jerked up and he found himself facing a frightened Allura, holding him up by his shoulders. He sucked in breath, his eyes flicked around the room, panicked.

“I—w-what—where—” He brought a hand up to his face and tried to breathe, tried to calm himself. The blackness was easing away. What was this? Where were—

“Shiro, it’s all right.” Allura’s voice was shaking. “You’re here in the lounge of the Castle of Lions. W-we were helping you sleep. Do you remember?”

Sleep? He saw a flash of a broken limb, he could smell the blood—He flinched. But there were Allura’s hands, still on his shoulders. He brought a hand up to cover hers. It was warm and clammy. He was staring into the middle distance, trying to reorient himself.

Sleep? He’d been...he hadn’t slept...oh. Yes. He felt the mattress under him now, the blanket tangled in his legs. He was here with his team. He hadn’t slept for days and they’d...they’d put him under—

“Shiro?” Allura ducked her face down to catch Shiro’s eyes. He blinked at her.

“I—y-yeah. I remember, just...just give me a minute.” He leaned back, released Allura’s hand.

“Of course.” She replied, and leaned back herself, letting go of his shoulders. 

The room loomed into view, so white it eviscerated any sense of darkness circling his sight. Again, they were all there. Again, they were all so frightened and concerned...because of him.

“I-I’m sorry,” he laughed, as though only embarrassed. He opened his mouth to say more, but was swept by a wave of nausea and found himself placing a hand on his stomach and moaning instead.

“Are you alright, Shiro?” Coran had stepped to kneel beside him. His hand was warm on Shiro’s back.

“Um.” Shiro thought about it for a moment. He felt…

His heart was still hammering, he felt sweaty and sticky and his mouth tasted awful. He looked down at his hands and they were shaking. But despite how keyed up he still was from... _ that _ ...he still felt...slow. Physically, mentally, like he was lugging himself through a swamp. And, yeah, nauseous. Not terribly, but enough to make him uncomfortable. His muscles twinged, ached to be stretched and used, and he...well, he really needed to use the bathroom.

Overall, not awful. Not great but...do-able. He turned back to Coran

“I’m, uh...I’ve been better,” he huffed a laugh.

Coran knit his brows and said, very seriously, “Could you describe your condition to me?”

Shiro raised his eyebrows, but complied. He left out what he had to, and downplayed some of it, but was, otherwise, mostly truthful.

Coran wasn’t going to let him go easily, though. “And just now, when you woke…?”

“Oh.” Shiro looked embarrassed again. “It was just...a-a dream.”

For some reason he found himself looking over at Keith. Keith was staring directly at him, stern and knowing, as though accusing Shiro of something. Guiltily, Shiro looked away.

“Were you having trouble waking up?”

“Um...I don’t know. I don’t really remember  _ trying _ to wake up. I think I was...having the same dream for a-awhile. And when Allura...was it hard to wake me up?” He was starting to get concerned. Had something gone wrong?

“A little. And then your reaction—”

“Ah, sorry. It’s fine. Really. But, uh, why the third degree, Coran?”

Coran raised an eyebrow.

Pidge interjected, “It’s an expression. He wants to know why you’re asking him so many serious questions. After he  _ just _ woke up. From a  _ nightmare. _ ” Pidge was looking at Coran sternly, arms crossed, as though she’d very much like this question answered herself. Though he wanted to argue with her use of the term ‘nightmare’, her protectiveness made Shiro smile.

“Oh. Yes, well, I-I was just concerned about some possible... _ unforeseen _ side effects of the medication we administered. Sorry for the, uh, ‘third-degree’.”

Lance peered over Coran’s shoulder, playfully serious, “So is he going to make it, doc?”

Shiro chuckled.

“Y-yes of course!” Coran replied indignantly. “The nausea should abate gradually, as well as the sluggishness and muscle cramping. You might also have some muscle weakness, though I’m not sure for how long.”

Muscle weakness? That...made him uncomfortable. But there was nothing he could do about it now.

“Ok, well, I—uh, I really need to use a restroom, so—”

“I TOLD you, I  _ told you! _ ” Hunk shouted, clapping Lance on the back.

Shiro looked up at him, smiling and confused. “You told them I had to pee?”

“W-well, yeah! I—it’s not as weird as—oh, whatever.”

Shiro laughed again. Despite everything, he still felt better than when he had gone to sleep. His headache was nearly gone, and even the aches in his muscles were less pronounced, his shakiness easing the longer he was awake. And they were all here to wake him, just as they’d said. Though he wasn’t sure, now, that they should have been.

“Well, you’ll have to tell me whatever that’s about  _ later,  _ I really have to—”

Immediately upon standing his head spun violently, and his knees gave out just as quickly. He found himself being propped up by Coran, with everyone else having moved at least a few inches nearer to him. Keith was looming over them, radiating worry. 

“Oh.” He was much weaker than he had anticipated. Coran seemed to be thinking the same thing, based on his pensive expression. 

“That’s, uh...hmm,” Shiro couldn’t think of anything to say, trying to juggle the sudden dizziness with his unabated nausea. He looked down at his legs, confused and a little irritated, unsure how to continue.

Allura spoke up, “We have small, personal hovercrafts, if you—”

“No, no, not just yet. We got this.” Hunk flanked Shiro’s other side, gave Coran and swift nod, and Shiro was on his feet.

Now that he was fully upright, he did feel weak. He tried to take as much of his weight as possible, but it wasn’t much. And the dizziness, and the nausea...

“This is because of the sedative?” Shiro looked over to Coran as they started down the hallway, the small entourage of others following hesitantly behind them.

“Yes. I’m sorry, I didn’t realize just how differently the medication would be processed in human physiology rather than Altean. I looked into it a little while you slept, but I’ll do more comprehensive research soon, to better understand what’s happening. But I can say with a surety that the effect is only temporary! You’ll be back to your old, walking-and-talking self again soon!”

Shiro hummed in agreement when another question occurred to him. “How long was I out anyway?”

“Nearly 80,000 ticks—”

“20 hours!” Lance called behind them.

_ 20 hours? _ Shiro couldn’t remember a single time in his entire life he’d slept so long. But he was still so  _ tired _ . And the sedative was  _ still _ affecting his system? After such a long time? 

Shiro frowned. He had hoped, which he realized now had been kind of stupid, that sleeping would “cure” him. That things would go back to normal. But now he was weak, and kind of sick-feeling, and he’d slept for _20 hours_ and he was _still_ tired. And that’s to say nothing of the actual insomnia itself. If it would come back, and how bad. And that dream...

They arrived at the bathroom, deposited him on the toilet, and told him to knock on the wall when he was finished.

Shiro’s frown deepened. This is not at all what he expected.


	3. Chapter 3

After escorting a still-weary Shiro to the dining room, Coran quietly excused himself for the research laboratory. He couldn’t help the severity of his frown.

He was the caretaker of the paladins, of the castle, their advisor and counselor. He couldn’t help but feel like he had neglected his duties, and not just in that the medication intended to help was having ill-effects.

Shiro was suffering. He’d seen glimpses of it, they all had. He’d seen the frantic set of Shiro’s eyes after Sendak’s untimely departure from the castle. Shiro’s occasional hesitation in battle or in training. And now, the nightmare he’d just woken from.

Coran recognized bits and pieces of it. He was a military man of a military family, and he was familiar with the less-pleasant outcomes of prolonged battle. He’d known fellows who had trouble sleeping, he’d known members of his own family who suffered the occasional re-surfacing of less-than-pleasant memories. But it was the way in which Shiro suffered that had Coran so baffled, and concerned.

Altea had been home to a large and complex society. It had gotten that way through determination and cleverness, but also through a commitment to empathy. It was one of the features of Altean society that so encouraged their inter-planetary travel—the ability and desire to understand other’s experiences. As such, Altean society was an open one. People were encouraged to rely on one another, to speak of their troubles, and to be comforted. Even when they weren’t spoken, Alteans had a tendency to leave their emotions exposed for others to see and respond to; it was rare that they hid their pain or their joy, such was the nature of their people.

And so the level of Shiro’s pain had baffled and startled Coran. How had no one noticed those entire three days that Shiro hadn’t slept? How could he have hidden such a thing? How could he have become so emotionally distraught so quickly? Because these drastic symptoms hadn’t occurred until just recently, Coran hypothesized that there must have been some intense recent trauma, though he could think of none. Surely this couldn’t be from his time as a prisoner? They would have seen such a suffering if it had been so long-standing, would they not? He couldn’t have been suffering like this the whole time Coran had known the man? _Could_ he?

The possibility of it haunted him.

He entered the laboratory—a large space packed with all sorts of equipment, with storage hiding even more equipment, and a hub of consoles near the entrance. He approached the consoles and initially pulled up three files: basic human anatomy and function, basic Altean anatomy and function, and specs of the medication they’d used, what it was composed of, and how it worked.

He realized well before he began that this would be an extensive process. While the medications they’d developed were largely beneficial to any species with a theoretically similar anatomy (especially considering the medication’s own ability to adapt to subtle changes) tracking down and understanding the minute differences in how the drug is processed between two species is quite a task. The drug doesn’t run through just one system, but _many_ , and it could be in any of these systems that the problem has occurred. Not to mention the complexity of the drug itself: there are any number of components of its composition which might be adversely affecting any number of Shiro’s systems. Or more than one component, or more than one system, or a complex interweaving of all these. Coran had a hypothesis, but that was only a place to _begin_. There was no telling how long this might take him.

And the more he sat, pouring over human anatomy, the systems the drug would take its course through, the basics of how these systems operated and how they might break down or react to what he theorized might be the problem component, he became more and more sure that this was not the work he needed to be doing. Despite Shiro’s current state, Coran _was_ sure that these ill-effects would wear off eventually, likely within the next day or two. He’d like to give Shiro a concrete answer on this front to assuage his fear, but ultimately the outcome was clear. What was less clear to him was what brought on the inability to sleep, and how long it had been going on for.

Coran thought back on his little amount of experience with humans to understand their behavior in much the same way he was now coming to understand their biology. What was different in the way humans and Alteans processed and expressed things? Could they be much more different than he had, at first, assumed?

He remembered the day Pidge revealed herself as a girl, for instance. Coran had not at all been surprised by this. However, there was something to be said about the reveal itself. It was a secret that had obviously weighed heavily on the young one’s soul for her to have announced it in such a way, but—as he had been oblivious that she was disguising her gender—he had also been oblivious to _this_ pain. He was more knowledgeable in displays he’d seen from Lance, who conveyed many emotions and admitted to his homesickness—or Keith, who was also quick to emote—or Hunk who was open about his fear and his love—or Pidge her aggravation. Shiro, too, showed his emotions, and yet…

The longer Coran thought about what he’d seen of Shiro, what he knew of him, the more he was _convinced_ that the problem was long-standing. For such a noble man to break in such a way is not something that happens over-night-—or even several sleepless ones—no matter how little Coran had noticed it...Were they all hiding such pain? Was it a trait particular to Shiro, or a human tendency they all shared? Were the other paladins in such dire straights? How did they manage? Did the paladins at least recognize this in their fellows and assist them, outside of Coran’s knowledge?

He sighed, pushed back from the console, ran a hand through his hair. The problems which faced him were so _complex_. How was he meant to—

Keith entered the door behind him, stoney faced and rigid.

“Ah, Keith. Can I help you?” He tried to wipe the weariness from his voice.

“I just...how’s this—” he motioned vaguely to the screens in front of him, “—going...Do you know what’s happening to Shiro?” Concern rippled behind the anger in Keith’s voice and Coran wondered how much he truly understood about Keith’s emotions at this very moment.

“Well,” he turned back to his work, “let’s see. ”

Coran explained, slowly and patiently, the nature of the research he was conducting. He pointed out potential problem systems and how the drug might had ineffectively been processed, but only gave the cursory details because, as he sighed and admitted to Keith, “Unfortunately, there’s nothing much we can do about any of this. The medication has already been administered, and—if I’m correct—all there’s left to do is...wait. Until his systems can fully process and break it down.”

Keith stood there with his arms crossed, staring at the display. “When...will he get better.”

“The effects should wane throughout the evening and into tomorrow. I suspect he’ll be back to himself again by late tomorrow evening, the following morning at the latest.”

Keith glared. “You’re sure?”

Coran nodded. “Absolutely.”

Keith held the stern set of his eyes for a beat longer, then closed them and sighed, loosening. “...Fine. Okay.”

Coran watched the young man, searching for any sign of the hidden pains he was beginning to uncover in humanity. Keith was obviously pained at Shiro’s discomfort, concerned for his well-being, relieved at the imminence of his recovery. And yet, Coran suspected there were more emotions toiling beneath, yet unexpressed.

A thought occurred to him which made him feel more than a little guilty in its frame, though enticing. He considered that he might use Keith as a kind of test: perhaps he could take this moment to learn about some of these long-standing hurts from a source with potentially less...dire consequences. Again, Coran felt guilty to think about it in such a way—to think about caring for his teammate as a matter of research—but he was genuinely concerned for the well-being of all those under his care, and if Keith was, in fact, suffering, Coran would very much like to know about it, at least. Even if there was nothing else he could do.

He turned to Keith, resolved but cautious, and asked, simply, “Keith...are you alright?”

Keith jolted and turned to him with wide eyes. He looked...startled, angry even, but more uncomprehending than anything, mouth hanging open, arms akimbo. “I—wha—w-why? Why do you ask?” His voice was soft, but defensive.

“I—” Coran struggled, again, with his motives, but quickly recovered, “—I understand your concern for Shiro’s health, but it seems to me that you might be upset about more than just that.” Coran softened his voice, his expression, to one of understanding rather than judgement.

Keith closed his mouth and lowered his eyes to the floor. His expression softened even as his fist clenched at his side. He said nothing.

“Keith?” Coran prodded, both hopeful and sad, “Am I wrong?”

“I—” Keith sighed again, “I mean _no_. You’re not wrong. I-I’m just…” he looked up at the display again, the compound model rotating slowly on the screen, “I’m just...worried.”

Coran cocked an eyebrow, “About the sedative?”

“No!” Keith growled, then caught himself, sighed, pinched the bridge of his nose, “I mean _yes,_ but...no. I’m worried...about Shiro.”

Coran stayed silent, an invitation for Keith to continue.

He took it, though seemingly begrudgingly. “I’m...he’s not... _doing well_ . He hasn’t been for a while, I think. I know that he’s trying not to...to worry anyone but…” Keith sighed again. “...and now with this, I just...he didn’t sleep for _three days,_ Coran.” Keith turned to him then, face etched in worry. “And he was just _walking around_ like that, like it was no big deal! The other day he got on me for _skipping lunch_ ! He was _scolding me_ , and helping Pidge and talking to Allura like _nothing was going on_! How can he—how are we supposed to—” Keith grit his teeth and took hot, quick breaths through them, putting his hand over his face, crossing his other arm back over his chest.

So, Coran thought, he wasn’t alone in this. Keith, at least, was also disappointed with his inability to predict Shiro’s pain, though also seemingly more cognizant that it had been there for quite some time. This was both encouraging and disappointing to him.

“Yes,” Coran replied, “I understand. It can be...quite frustrating.”

“He needs _help_ , Coran.” Keith’s voice was strangled and small behind his hand, but Coran heard it, felt it. “And I’m not...I’m not sure how to give it to him.”

Coran sighed too, leaning back in his chair. Yes. Help. It was certainly what Shiro needed and, perhaps (Coran worried), the others as well, but Coran felt out of his depth, wandering into new and potentially dangerous territory. Charging into a battle which must be fought, despite the risks, despite any lack of foreknowledge. Something had to be done, and _soon_ , for Shiro’s sake. But what could he possibly do? With how little he knew, how little he understood, how could he hope to conquer such a problem when even a member of Shiro’s own species, with a fundamentally more comprehensive knowledge of the workings of humanity, couldn’t seem to do so?

It was then, looking at Keith, that he realized he had been approaching the problem all wrong. He had been coming at the problem like a researcher, like a counselor, like the only man with any responsibility. But this was untrue. Here was Keith, pondering just the same questions as him, struggling with just the same worries, no doubt attempting to solve the problem himself, just as Coran was doing. This was the solution.

“Keith,” Coran said, sitting straighter in his chair, “Could you tell me about it? What you know of what Shiro’s suffering? I—” he frowned, “—I’ll admit that my understanding of human psychology may be as flawed as my understanding of human biology.”

He caught Keith’s eyes, “I want to help him, though I’m not sure how. Perhaps if I...if I understood the problem better…”

Keith frowned too. “I don’t know that much, really. Shiro won’t...he doesn’t talk about it. Doesn’t _want_ to talk about it.” He flexed his fist in front of him, staring down at it, “Sometimes I think I see...glimpses of it. But that’s about it.”

“Whatever you have,” Coran implored, voice edging on insistent. “However much of it you have would be helpful.”

“O...okay.” Keith nodded. “Okay.”

The discussion that followed, much like the bulk of emotions Coran had felt that day, had been both hopeful and distressing. Because of this painful incident, Shiro’s teammates might be able to properly help him. But it would involve learning about and uncovering even more unpleasantness. While the promise of a potential solution danced somewhere far in the future, this moment was fraught with uncertainty and worry.

But Coran was beginning to learn, just as Shiro was, that he was not alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The completion of this chapter was due entirely to comments I've received from you guys! Thank you so much for everything I really really appreciate it. I want to say, once again, that I really have no idea where I'm going with this, but hope that if people remain interested in it, I might just keep writing.
> 
> Thanks again!!


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